You Know When You’re a…

… Boring married couple with a baby when your idea of an amazing Valentine’s day gift is having your partner prepare all of your baby’s daycare stuff and make her dinner so that when you get home from work, you actually can relax a little.  I know that doesn’t sound like much but since Jeremy has been studying for the bar since the end of December, I’ve been pulling single parent duty.  To say I’m exhausted is an understatement.  I give a lot of credit to single parents… I don’t know how you do it.

I tried to have Annmarie walk her Valentine’s day card to Jeremy but she was not having it.  She’s been under the weather so when I handed her the card, she promptly threw it on the ground and started screaming.  

Jeremy’s card was a flirty card and mine was so not:

We didn’t exchange any gifts.  I gave Jeremy some candy bars and he took some things off  of my plate this evening.  But I did come home from work to this:

And that’s what being married for nearly 5 years (in April!) and having a 1 year old will do.  I wouldn’t have it any other way! Actually, I’d prefer to be home WITH Jeremy (after he’s passed the bar) but I’m happy with a low key holiday.

A Funny Conversation with my Husband

I think my husband is one of the funniest people I know – but I’m pretty sure nobody else finds him nearly as funny as I do.

We were driving home from the grocery store the other day and we passed a salon.  This triggered a question in my head (although I never bothered to mention why I was asking).

Me: What are your thoughts on Brazilians? (totally meaning the waxing since I was looking at a salon)
Jeremy: [long pause] Wait – are you asking about the wax or the people?

I’m not sure why I found that to be so funny.  Why would I be asking what he thought about brazilian people?  But then again, why would I be asking about waxing (he didn’t notice the salon). 

We have a lot of these types of conversations because I have a tendency to think about a million random things while in the car and just spout of comments and questions without context.

And while we’re on the topic of waxing – Jeremy suggested electrolysis.  Why bother getting a monthly wax if you could just permanently get rid of unwanted hair.

My thought?  What if I need that hair someday.  I mean – we clearly have it for a reason.  He thinks I’m crazy… but I’ll have the last laugh when the apocalypse comes and the weather is freezing and all those ladies without hair will be freezing but I’ll have a nice and warm…

(Jeremy thinks I’m crazy)

5 Years Ago

… the magic began.  What magic?  The magic between me and Jeremy.  Ha!  It seems kind of crazy that we’ve been married for half of that time.  To some, it seems like we kind of jumped right into a lifetime committment but to us it just made sense.

So let me set the scene of our magic making.  A week prior, I had laid the ground work unknowingly.  I had my eye on Jeremy for a bit (especially when I heard he was a good smoocher from another friend… and yes, he made out with a friend of mine.  And no, it’s actually not weird at all – it’s hilarious!). 

So how did I unknowingly lay the ground work?  I got completely drunk and made an ass out of myself.  I think this just proves that I am an adorably drunk (and not the annoying drunk who vomits all over the side of her husband’s car after a wedding.  Oh wait – I am.  I guess that’s what getting married does to a gal).

I spent the week scheming on how I was going to hook Jeremy.  I deemed him my pet project.

Jeremy apparently declared that he was going to pursue me.

We made plans (group plans) to hit up some absurd happy hour at a bar in Canton ($1 Miller Lites!).  We stuck around well past our friends and even ducked into a dive bar for a bit.  And then the awkward invite into my house.

I think I might have said something along the lines of hating my roommate’s cat and that it puked in my room.  I said it left a stain on my carpet and did he want to see it.  I’ve got some sweet moves.

And after an all night smooch-fest, I took him home the next morning and high-fived him goodbye.  To say it was awkward is an understatement.

But here we are five years later… sitting on the sofa, watching a DVR’ed “Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” and chowing down on a fabulous vegan mexican chocolate cake that I made.

Affection

I looked up the race times of a couple that I know that recently completed their first half marathon.  And if you’re wondering if I’ve ever looked up your race time, yes – I have.  If I know you’ve run a race and I know your name – I most likely have looked you up in Athlinks.  I can’t help it – I’m a curious person.

I’m very proud of this couple for doing something that they’ve never done before (and also because I am embarking upon the same physical journey!).

Anyways – the purpose of this post is that I was floored to see that they had the same finish time.  The same time… down to the second.  What amazes me is that this means they truly went through the race together.  They accomplished this feat together.  They pushed each other throughout and finished TOGETHER.

This probably doesn’t amaze anyone else but I have never finished a race with Jeremy.  He just runs so much faster than I do (even when he’s injured).  Let’s take a look at some recent race times:

Zooma 10k

Me – 1:05:14 / Jeremy - 43:45

Baltimore 10-miler

Me – 1:44:29 / Jeremy - 1:16:44

Dundalk 6k

Me: 33:01 / Jeremy – 24:43

Clearly I am much much slower.  And even if Jeremy did run with me, I truly believe he’d still cut ahead just at the last second to beat me. 

What can I say, he’s competitive.

So the idea that a couple would run something completely together was really sweet.  Then I started to think about affection in general and realized (well, it wasn’t an epiphany or anything – I’ve always known this) that I’m not an affectionate person. 

Jeremy is really affectionate.

Where does this come from?  Is this something we get from our parents?  Jeremy’s parents are very affectionate with each other.  My parents?  Not so much although my mom is super affectionate with me AND Jeremy (she tried to kiss him on the mouth once… talk about awkward).

So you’d think having a super affectionate mother would make me love to hug people but it doesn’t.  Did growing up not seeing my parents be affectionate with one another switch off my affection switch?

I love my husband.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  I just don’t feel the need to hug and touch them all the time… or even some of the time. 

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I’ll hold Jeremy’s hand or “snuggle” but generally I’m happy sitting on the other end of the couch while watching tv.

So where do you fall?  Are you an affectionate person?  Were your parents affectionate with each other?  Am I the only weirdo with boundaries?

Contending with Fumes and Fart Clouds

I have realized that no matter how old I am, I will always enjoy talking about farting.  And pooping.  No really – I enjoy talking about these things.  All the time.  Much to the horror of my family (minus Jeremy who also enjoys these chats).

I like to justify my joy of talking about these things to me being very health conscious.  That works, right? RIGHT?!

Anyways – I really just wanted to title this post “Contending with Fumes and Fart Clouds” based on an e-mail exchange I have going on with some pals.  Apparently I seek out friends who also enjoy discussing farting and pooping.

We’re meeting up for dinner at a local Mexican joint (Arcos in Fell’s Point) because
(1) I love Mexican food.
(2) I have a coupon.  Economic crisis = coupon clipping.
(3) It’s a nice belated bday dinner for 2 pals.
(4) I haven’t had a nice dinner with these girls in awhile.

Of course, talking about Mexican food lends itself to fart chat.  As one friend so eloquently wrote, “I love Mexican food and I’m sure [my husband] will appreciate it later when he succumbs to my gassy ways.”

To which I told her she was preaching to the farticular choir.

Sadly – I laughed about farting yesterday for much longer than any 28 year old should.  But really – will it ever get old?

The conversation continued today when a pal suggested carpooling to save on car fumes and then added, “but after dinner we will have other fumes to contend with!“  I’m sure it’s not that funny to you, blogosphere but I’m amazed at my maturity level sometimes.  I still can’t stop laughing!

My poor dogs don’t realize that they’re the real victims in all of this because when they’re sleeping under the covers, they’ll be inhaling my fart cloud (that is what Jeremy calls the toxic fumes under our covers at night… although most would refer to it as a dutch oven).

Another pal added today that her hubby  ”likes to say he has so much love inside that it’s oozing out” and likes to refer to his farts as “love bubbles”. 

I truly don’t understand couples that don’t pass gas in front of each other.  Ladies – we know you do it!  Don’t lie!  I think the toughest part in a relationship when it comes to pooting is getting that first one out of the way.  My theory is that you should go big or go home.  What did I do?  I pinned Jeremy down on the ground and farted on him.  I think it was that exact moment that he knew he wanted to marry me.

Okay – now back to adult life.

The Love Monkey

I watched an episode of Oprah yesterday about Why Men Cheat.  I didn’t think any real revelations came out of it but one of the things mentioned was that men often cheated because they were feeling underappreciated at home.

After I finished choking on my dinner, I thought about it.  I think we’re all guilty of this (men and women).  Sometimes Jeremy will do my laundry and I’ll look at it and say, “You folded all my shirts wrong.”  (just for the record – he does!  He folds shirts in a way that the front of the shirt doesn’t sit on top.  It is very strange)

But I think I’m pretty good about being a thoughtful spouse.  I make cookies, I do the laundry, I make him special meals…

So anywho – I’ve been mocked for the love monkey.  But you know what?  With Jeremy in school and both of us working all day, I don’t get a chance to really spend physical time with him Monday-Thursday.  That’s the majority of the week for you non-math majors.

This Love Monkey?  It’s just a sweet gesture that I’ve dorkily come to love and appreciate. 

This is what I came home to on Tuesday. 

And this is what I came home to yesterday:

I don’t know what else this Love Monkey can do… but I have a feeling he was placed in front of the TV because the dogs keep chewing pieces of him off.

Apparently the dogs think we’re huge nerds for communicating through a stuffed toy too.

One of the reasons…

… I love Jeremy is because every so often, he’ll do something completely random that warms my cold heart and makes me smile like this:

These are the dogs’ toys sitting together waiting to greet me as I walk in the door from a long day at work. 

He started this last week with just the monkey.  When I first walked in the door, the monkey was sitting on the edge of the sofa with it’s legs and arms crossed.  It took me a minute to realize that this monkey was greeting me.

Since then, we’ve been positioning the monkey in different ways and with different friends. 

Seriously – this is what happens after you’ve been married for 2 years.  You start playing with your dogs’ stuffed toys.

But just when I thought I couldn’t possibly love Jeremy any more, he came home last night and said, “wow – you have a huge pimple on your cheek.”  He then went on to say that it reminded him of that Family Guy episode with “Doug the talking pimple“.  Thanks, honey.